


A Hole in the World

by OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Introspection, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl/pseuds/OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie dies. Crane... doesn't handle it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fracture

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so remember how I said that to hurt Crane, I have to hurt Abbie? Yeah. I'm a horrible person.

In the end, it is not a supernatural being that lays her low, but a petty criminal.

Abbie smiles at him before she exits the vehicle, asking if he wants anything from the convenience store. He asks her for Ho-Hos and then indulges in a mini-rant about their ridiculous name, only slowing down when she laughs.

"I don't know what's more amusing," she says, "your sweet tooth or you having to say the names of convenience store pastries."

He huffs, slightly insulted but secretly pleased at making her laugh.

"I am  _delighted_ to be your own personal Jester, Lieutenant. Remind me to acquire pantaloons for your future entertainment."

"Now _there's_ an image I'd like to see," she chuckles, and heads inside.

He allows himself a small smile. It is good to see her laugh and smile again. The past few days had been trying, what with the new danger lurking in Sleepy Hollow. One they had not yet identified, but had almost claimed the life of several college-aged men. Abbie is always restless when there's an open case, and more so when she doesn't know what she's fighting. But these moments--the ones where he can wrest from her some merriment, a sparkle in her eye, he cherishes these moments.

It's only when she's gone a moment that he recalls that he would also like a so-called moon pie, so he reaches for his phone to text her the request. He notes as he does that she has left her own phone in the cup holder and sighs. If there were an emergency, how would she--a gunshot rings from inside and Crane bolts out of the car.

He arrives in the brightly-lit store to see the Lieutenan-- _Abbie_ holding her hands up above her head, her badge and gun in one and the other trying to calm a desperate-looking dark-haired young man holding both her and a weeping store clerk hostage.

"Don't you _fucking_ move, lady, I swear to god--"

"Hey," Abbie says, calmly, "it's okay. Look, I'm not gonna shoot. I'm not even gonna call for backup, just... just give me the gun, okay?"

Crane's heart seizes at the sight of the gun pointed at Abbie.

"Lieutenant, what--"

The robber--startled at hearing Crane's voice--jerks, and Crane swears he can hear the second gunshot before it ever happens. The clerk screams, Abbie grunts and falls, and Crane doesn't even notice when the robber panics and runs past him because he can see her face dear God he can see it she's been hit _no._

He runs to her, accidentally kicking the badge and her gun out of her hand.

"Abbie, Abbie, please," he's whispering frantically.

Her glazed eyes find his and she smiles faintly.

"Hey, Crane," she says.

A slight crack in his heart appears. He clears his throat and tries not to sound as afraid as he really is.

"Lieutenant," it's a little choked, but it serves.

"Lieutenant," he tries again, "what is the delay?"

She laughs, and he winces when it turns into a horrible, liquid cough.

"Well, you know, I was gonna get you your ho-hos but then I thought: 'why not get gut-shot instead?'"

It's horrible, but in that moment he hates her. Hates himself. Hates everything about this, holding his partner as she bleeds out and wanting more than anything to tell her everything he'd stopped himself from saying countless times before now.

He tries to laugh at the absurdity of it, but it comes out as a sob.

"What can I do," he says, bringing his hand to her face now, not caring that it's bloodied. _With_ her _blood_ , his damnable mind supplies. He strokes her cheek, and the gesture is an _I love you_ in itself. An _I've always loved you_. A _please don't leave me_.

"Well, about that..."

"No," he whispers.

"I'm sorry, Crane. But you're a soldier. You know abdominal gunshot wounds."

" _No._ " The word is a sob. 

"God, this--fuck, this actually hurts a lot."

"It does," he agrees.

Abbie winces, brings her hand up to hold his. He would rather keep touching her face--she's so  _beautiful_ even now, like this--but he takes it and grips it as if it will keep her here.

"The clerk, is she--"

He looks away to see if the clerk is still around but doesn't see her.

"I don't--I don't see her, Abbie."

"Okay. That's okay, it's... fine. Probably went... to get help. Hope... so, anyway," she tries to smile again and another sob rises in his throat. 

His beautiful, brave Lieutenant. The crack in his heart widens.

She lets his hand go and reaches slowly, painfully up to touch his face. His hand meets it there, unwilling to let go.

"I've got... maybe fifteen minutes... if she went for help. Less, if--" 

She coughs more violently now, and he stiffens. 

"Lieutenant. Abbie. Please, you mustn't speak if it's--if it'll hasten--"

She shushes him.

"Need... to get this... out...okay?"

A tear makes its way out of her eye. No. Not Abbie, if there ever existed a blasted God up there He wouldn't do this to her. Never her.

"You need to... Jenny... she'll be--" a tiny hiccup here, he imagines it's meant to be a laugh, "she'll be pissed... don't let her.... anger... she spirals."

The cough is weak now.

"And you... let people take... care of you... okay? Jenny... Irving... anyone. Don't do the... _Captain_... thing."

"Abbie," he begs, "please don't do this. You speak as if you--"

Even weak as she is, she manages to look exasperated with him. It only makes him love her more.

"You're not stupid, Crane."

Her expression softens.

"Did I ever tell you... you have... beautiful eyes?"

And with that, she's gone. And the crack breaks open. 

 

* * *

 

Emergency services finds him several minutes later, still holding her, his gaze fixed on her face.

"You're late," is all he says.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read a couple of fics where the better Witness dies and while I cried and loved them, I always felt like it would be the final straw for Crane. Like he'd be stuck somewhere between "anger" and "bargaining," and that he just... wouldn't take it. I know I the fuck wouldn't. Anyway, this will have a continuation. Hang in there, loves.


	2. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath. Team Witness grieves. Crane only wants one thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, this one will probably be rough, too. But we're getting there, I promise. Also, as a side note: Katrina doesn't exist here. Either she's already dead, or she never was alive. I could've made her awesome and present, but I just don't care that much about her so I didn't, sorry.

Irving and Luke have trouble holding Jenny back.

She struggles like a wild thing, and the men get a couple of bruises out of it.

"She's  _not_ she's not she's not," she keeps saying, as if Abbie will come out of that fucking drawer she's in, apologize, then suggest they all go to karaoke. 

She doesn't even realize she's crying, but she feels _it_ , the anger, the worry, and if they would just let her  _go,_ she could see her, could see Abbie, could hold her hand. Abbie doesn't like it in the dark, not anymore, not since Purgatory. She turns to Irving, and his somber face, the tears he's let slip, make her sag.

"Please, Frank, she doesn't like the dark," she pleads, and Irving shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

It makes her wail like a wounded banshee. Irving catches her as she falls to the ground, and he nods to Luke, who swallows hard and leaves the morgue, eager to escape the scene and his own feelings.

"Jenny," Irving whispers.

Jenny shakes her head, indicating that she's heard.

"Jenny," Irving says again, "I'm so--I'm so sorry."

His voice breaks on the apology and it makes Jenny feel oddly better.

"She's not gone," she asserts, "she _can't_ be. She's a fucking Witness, Frank."

"I know," he says quietly.

She catches his eye.

"She doesn't like the dark," she whispers, and he holds her close as they both cry on the cold gray floor of the morgue.

 

* * *

 

Luke makes it all the way to his car before his restless energy leaves him in a rush.  He's used to dealing with grieving people--as a cop, you frequently catch people on the worst day of their lives, and as a soldier, you're often the  _cause_ of someone's worst day. But not when it's her. Not when it's Abs.

Sure, they'd had a weird sort of not-friendship these past couple of years, but he'd still cared. 

He leans against his car and rubs his face.

_God, Abbie, what the fuck?_

He fully expects an answer, then remembers that she's not here to give it. Even if she had been, chances were she wouldn't answer anyway. He'd never made it past the Great Wall of Abbie. Not like Ichabod Crane.

The name makes him growl.

_And where the fuck is_ he _right now, huh, Abs?_

He immediately regrets the harshness, pushing himself off the car and finally getting ready to get in it and head--god, who knows. To work. To a bar. New York City. The moon.

His mind flashes to Abbie lying on a slab, pale and cold, and he makes a strangled sound in his throat.

_Abbie. What the fuck._

 

* * *

 

 

Crane doesn't cry after Abbie is led away. He follows the officers to the station without protest, despite his mind screaming at him to go with her. He can't do it. Already the image of her lifeless and limp is branded within him and he can no longer bear making the image more vivid still.

He gives the investigating officers a detailed description of the gunman in a dry monotone that unnerves them--they'd seen him broken when Abbie was referred to as "the body," after all. But now he seems unbothered, as if nothing that is happening touches him.

"Did his pain receptors get shut off?" one of the rookies whispers to his partner, who fails to contain a surprised snicker.

"Masterson!"

The officers startle and turn at Leena Reyes' voice.

"Yes, ma'am?" the rookie answers, trying to hide his nervousness.

"I'm fairly certain you and officer Talbot have paperwork to do."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Get to it."

The rookie and his partner scramble off, and Reyes glances at Crane sitting a few feet away, rigid as ever, as the sketch artist works. She's still not sure what the partnership between him and Abbie was, but she knows that it was not entirely professional. And she knows that the Crane sitting there is not emotionless at all. That he is a man nursing deep anger and an even deeper sadness, and god help her, she understood it.

Reyes turns and heads into her office.

She closes the door and sits at her desk, and buries her face in her hands.

_Oh, Lori. I'm so sorry._

 

* * *

 

Crane doesn't go home after the station. Instead, he heads to the archives with a purposeful stride. 

He bypasses a pile of books to his left, the remnants of the research into Sleepy Hollow's current threat, and tries not to notice a paper cup sitting next to it, one with the faint imprint of Abbie's lip color. He continues on to a shadowy corner where his cot used to be, one that they'd been using as a hiding place for odds and ends--trinkets and artifacts needed in their fight as Witnesses--and finds the particular one he came for.

He uses it in the way the Lieutenant described and moments later a figure appears, its imposing form blotting out most of the light from a lamp behind it.

"What do you wish of me, Witness?" Orion asks, his tone surprisingly patient despite his surprise at being summoned.

He notes Crane's bearing, the cold fury radiating out of the Witness, and tenses slightly. 

Crane's fingers tighten on Orion's sigil and he makes the demand that had been rattling around inside him since Abbie had drawn her last breath.

" _Bring her back_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise they'll all come this timely, but they're coming. Hopefully they won't keep being short, either. Thanks for all the feedback, guys! I ~~revel in your pain~~ really, really appreciate it!


	3. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane begs a boon, but can Orion grant it? And what is the cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna _try_ not to make you guys cry with this one, but don't hold it against me if I can't, lol. Also just wanna remind y'all to keep an eye on the tags and ratings and stuff as I may update them as I go.

"Ichabod Crane," the angel begins.

Crane's jaw clenches and his eyes become flint.

"Do not  _dare_ tell me it is not possible," his tone is as hard as his eyes.

Orion does not move, but there is a rustling of hidden feathers, a sign of his discomfort. He knows well the Witness' pain, has felt it for millennia, in far worse circumstances. He'd cultivated detachment from it--an easy tactic for an Immortal--and had instead subsumed it into his purpose when released from Purgatory. Given time, Ichabod Crane could do the same, but he knows humans were rarely that clear-headed in the face of grief.

And yet.

He, too, had felt attachment to the Witness Abigail Mills. Had seen a rare spirit in her that had tempted him to turn from purpose, or at the very least, consider alternatives. He has no doubt the World needs Abigail Mills, but knows also that retrieving her is no easy task, and one not without cost.

"It...is possible," Orion finally admits, "but it carries a heavy penalty, and is beyond my power."

Crane's scoff carries the weight of his contempt.

"Have the bloody world, then, just give her back to me. Or point to one who can." 

Orion steps back in surprise.

"You would... let the world burn?"

"I would. I will, if she's not returned. She belongs _here_. Now will you help, or no?"

 

* * *

 

After filling out some paperwork and tying loose ends at the morgue, Irving drops Jenny off at Abbie's house.

"Are you sure this is where you wanna be?"

His voice is gentle, and Jenny doesn't know whether she appreciates or resents it. 

"Where else would I go?"

She exits the car, intending to turn back and thank Irving for... everything, really, when she hears a corresponding noise of a car door closing.

"What are you doing?" she asks as Frank comes around to meet her, car keys already out of sight.

"You're not staying alone," he answers, then turns and heads toward the darkened house.

She wants to argue. She  _would_ argue. But the truth is she can't bear to be in that house alone without Abbie. Not when she knows Abbie's no longer coming back to it. No more stupid romantic comedies and popcorn with melted M&Ms in it. No more exasperated "get a load of what Crane did today" stories--Oh, god. She'd forgotten Crane.

Fuck, he must be--what will he even _do_ without Abbie?

She scoffs to herself.

What will _any_ of them do without her?

"Mills. Jenny. You coming?"

She looks up to see that Irving is already at the door.

First, she'll get through tonight. She _needs_ tonight.

Crane will just have to deal until morning.

"Yeah, I'm coming."

 

* * *

 

Crane studies the angel's face for a reaction. He'd expected--well, who knows exactly what he'd bloody expected? For the angel to jump at the chance at Armageddon in exchange for one woman? For it to be as easy as rubbing a sigil and thinking a word?

What he'd give to have a talisman capable of summoning Abbie from whatever holding-place she is currently inhabiting.

"The first thing we must do is determine where Abigail is."

If he had not been watching Orion he would've assumed the thought came from himself.

"Is she not in Purgatory?"

Orion smiled wryly. 

"I have not checked. Have you any witches to perform the necessary spells?"

It seemed all Crane's hands did lately was clench. They did so now, at the mention of witches.

"There are no witches," he grits out.

"But we may nee--"

" _There are no witches_. Seek an alternative."

Orion sighs, dangerously close to losing patience.

"Very well. We will need something of hers. And a great deal of luck."

Crane looks around, mind too cluttered to make use of his memory. Had he seen anything of the lieutenant's on the way--ah, yes.

He reaches into his pocket, remembering that there was a reason he'd walked into that blighted place in the first place. A reason that had nothing to do with gunmen, or blood, or this bloody hole in the bloody world where there once stood one of the few people most worthy of the title of "champion."

He hands Orion the cell phone, his heart astonishingly capable of breaking still further.

"Will it serve?"

The angel nods curtly.

 Orion unfurls his wings and Crane tenses, ready to tackle the angel if he meant to flee. But instead, Orion reaches back and pulls out a single feather, grunting slightly in pain.

"A torch or a candle, please, human," he requests.

Crane crosses the floor to where an unlit candle sits, a remnant of the last research session the Witnesses had conducted in this room. He pats his coat pockets once more, and reaches into one to pull out a book of matches. Once the candle is lit, Orion starts to chant in a language with which Crane is not familiar. He makes an effort to listen closely, suspicion still a ruling emotion within him, swirling in his core along with the rage, and pain, and loss.

 _Abbie, please,_ he pleads, not knowing if he's said the words out loud.

There is no change in the cadence of Orion's chant, so he assumes not. The angel touches the tip of his feather to the flame. It catches fire and Orion starts to tremble. Now the chanting _does_ change, both in intensity and volume, and Orion starts to tremble and sweat.

Crane is hesitant to interfere, but Orion is pale now, straining with effort, but as he moves to touch his shoulder, the feather ignites completely and disappears, leaving behind a strange white smoke that hovers over Abbie's phone yet does not move.

"What is happening?" Crane asks.

"I know where she resides," the angel replies, then collapses to the floor, losing consciousness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting to end this chapter here, but it makes sense I guess. Anyway, thanks again for all your feedback and support. Keep a lookout for a new POV soon!


	4. Darkening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane and Orion have a bearing, but what dangers must they navigate to reach Abbie? Meanwhile, a forgotten threat plagues Sleepy Hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No changes in tags or the rating for this one. This might be a Crane-heavy chapter since now we're getting to the brass tacks. Whatever the hell that means.
> 
> Oh, and a further note: mythology-wise, I'm gonna be jumping around a bit. If I am at any time insensitive in my use of religious imagery (I will be keeping it to a minimum, but still), cultural concepts, or anything of the like, please let me know and I will either mend or excise them completely. I also welcome any and all help with any of the things I'm juggling (which will show up soon).

_There is no map, but she follows the path._

_She parts veils, many of them hiding sharp things._

_Sharp things that cut, sharp things that scar._

_The pain fades, but the scars never do._

_She knows there is something (someone) that can make of them something beautiful, something worthwhile._

_That knowledge fades._

_The scars remain._

_She follows the path._

 

* * *

 

"Sheol," the angel offers when he comes to.

He shifts against the table Crane had dragged him to after he lost consciousness.

"It is not an easy place to breach, nor to escape," he continues, "but she is there."

Crane, who had been pacing in front of him, stops and turns.

"Is--does she suffer?"

The fluttering of his hands betrays how important Orion's answer to this question is.

Orion hesitates.

"It is not Hell, but neither is it Heaven. There is no distinction between the righteous and the wicked in that place, but the only danger she would be under would be that which she causes herself."

Crane swallows.

"To think of her there," he murmurs, a fresh pain seating itself in his heart. "Why did she not ascend?"

Orion gets to his feet, recovered enough from the drain of his earlier ritual.

"The answer to that I cannot know, Witness, I am sorry. Perhaps it was not her time, or she herself did not wish to. It is dependent on things beyond my ken."

Crane gives him a grudging nod, forced to accept this. 

Orion waits for another question as Crane sits.

There is a heading now, a direction in which to go, but it presents fresh challenges. For Abbie, he is prepared to sacrifice anything, but only when there is certainty of success. And Miss Jenny, who he had not even called nor visited since--since the convenience store. He could not face her without something tangible to offer. He couldn't face her without Abbie. 

"What--" he clears his throat, then tries again. "What is required to free her?"

* * *

 

_There is urgency now._

_There is warmth she has not felt since her arrival here._

_It frightens her, and she runs, following the path further._

_She cries out a name she doesn't recognize but she doesn't know why._

 

* * *

 

It was a strange thing to give part of one's soul in order to merge with that of an angel's.

Most people would not know such a thing was possible.

But Crane's soul had been sundered already, and it had been surprisingly easy to let the remainder go. For her. To rescue her.

Orion had gone on the journey to the underworld hours before, and Crane, believing the endeavor failed, or himself deceived, had finally gone to the cabin to nurse this latest failure as he'd done past others.

He chuckled wryly to himself as he poured another glass of rum.

He had frequently been referred as soulless. Imagine, now the accusation is finally true! 

"Here, world," he toasts, "take as guardian and defender a sole, broken, _worthless_  Witness."

He downs the drink and pours another, cursing himself and Orion. 

He had been warned it wouldn't be an easy task to free the Lieutenant, but surely after half a bloody day that blasted, no-good, bastar--

There is a slight noise, and he turns toward the door, senses alert.

It had almost sounded like a footstep. But after waiting a minute, then two, the noise does not come again.

Instead outside the skies thunder and rain comes sheeting down.

"Fitting."

Crane drinks another glass and pushes himself away from the table. He heads to the fireplace, staring into the flames. He lets them lull him into a trance, allowing him to feel the dull pain of loss in waves. Almost a meditation. 

He doesn't know what it is that makes him head toward the door.

Doesn't know why he opens it to find a small figure standing on the other side, wearing painfully familiar clothing and looking at him somberly with dark brown eyes only partly illuminated by the light of the cabin.

She has avoided most of the rain, he notes, and her clothes are dry, if disheveled.

She stares at him unflinchingly and he falls to his knees in awe or shock or relief, his glass dropping from his fingers as he folds his arms around her waist.

"Crane?" her voice is hoarse and uncertain, and yet it is the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Abbie," he replies, and starts to weep.

 

* * *

 

The phone wakes Jenny.

She glances at the clock next to Abbie's bed, and groans when she realizes she's slept almost an entire day away. The memory of the day before, of why she's in Abbie's room instead of her own... that makes her sob.

It's only when the phone rings again that she remembers what woke her. 

She tries to compose herself as she reaches for it, clears her throat as she answers.

"Hello?"

"Oh, uh... shit, I'm sorry," the voice on the other end says.

"Luke?"

A pause.

"Yeah. God, I'm sorry, I didn't--It's a habit, I guess. I didn't think."

Jenny sits up straighter.

"Is there something wrong?"

"I... For a second, I thought--I thought she was still--"

Jenny grips the phone tighter, closing her eyes tightly against another flood of tears.

"I understand," she says.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Luke continues, clearly preparing to disconnect the call.

"Wait! What is it you needed to say?"

Luke hesitates again, then lets out a self-deprecating laugh.

"A case," he answers, "one she was working on. There's been a new development."

"Oh. Well, I can take the details and pass them along to Crane if--"

"No, that's not--that's not everything." Another laugh, almost hysterical this time.

"Luke?"

"I was calling your sister to let her know also that a body went missing from the morgue. Crazy, huh?"

"What? Crazy how? Whose body is missing?"

She can practically hear him shaking his head.

"Hers."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke had a brain fart, lol. The circumstances were different (obviously), but I've done the exact same thing.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for not having a detailed Siege at Sheol, but I wanted to focus on other things. Writer's prerogative, I guess. Good news, everyone! Now I can have Abbie chapters! Although... be careful what you wish for.


	5. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie's back, and that's a good thing... right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short but necessary one, I think.

"Crane?"

She's not sure where she is, or what's happened, but she knows Crane, so she clings to his name as he clings to her. 

After a while, when his sobs subside, she fights the fog in her mind to recognize the cabin, and though she can't remember how she got here, it's another familiar thing grounding her _here_. She glances down at Crane when he shifts, moving as if to let her go, and some unnamed impulse brings her hands up to cradle his head against her middle. It surprises her that she hadn't been holding him before. She could've sworn--

"Abbie?" 

He gently pulls back to look at her, but makes no move to stand when she makes a small whining sound in her throat. She wants contact. That is fine. He wants it, too.

He waits until her eyes meet his.

"Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

She furrows her brow as if she doesn't quite understand the question and he tries to ignore the pang of worry that causes.

"May I?" 

She stares at him, and he takes it for assent, getting up but holding her hand to maintain contact. Her hands are cold and she grips his tightly, almost painfully. He leads her to the couch in front of the fire and she sits while he kneels before her. 

While he inspects her for injuries, she glances around the cabin again.

_Crane's cabin--no. Corbin's cabin,_ she reminds herself.  _  
_

"August Corbin," she says out loud, slightly startling Crane.

"Yes," he replies, "this is Sheriff Corbin's cabin. You're remembering?"

Her eyes come back to him, and he catches his breath. She had always been beautiful, but the loss of her had made her even more precious.

"I--I'm at the cabin?" she asks, and he shakes himself.

"Yes."

"The  _real_ \--but I wasn't before?"

He breaks eye contact and swallows hard before asking.

"No, you--you were not."

She nods slightly, bites her lip.

Her brow furrows again.

"Where was I?"

 

* * *

 

 

"What the hell do you mean, 'you don't know'?!"

The entire department can hear Jenny, some of the officers glancing up.

Luke crosses the room to close Reyes' door.

"Just what we said, Jenny," he says. "We just... don't know. Trust me, it doesn't make us feel any better."

He motions to Reyes and Irving, who are standing uncomfortably at opposite ends of the desk. 

Jenny starts to pace angrily.

"Trust you," she says quietly to herself before raising her voice again, "trust _you_? The people who  _lost my sister._ "

Luke glances at Reyes before continuing.

"Look, Jenny, it's true we don't know where her--where  _she_ is. But we do know some things. Surveillance proves it wasn't, um, someone taking her, for one."

"Okay, but what does that _mean_? She walked out? She spontaneously combusted? Luke, where is she?"

Reyes shifts in place. After being filled in by Irving and Luke about the supernatural, she has been quiet, trying to figure out if she needs to have all these people committed. But their stories are so like Lori's, and there is merit to the idea of Crane being stuck in time. There is no way that guy _didn't_ come from the Time of Unfettered White Privilege. But there's a big step between being willing to entertain a theory and the word "zombie" being a valid possibility when someone tells you one of your officers' bodies has disappeared from the morgue. So instead she offers another crazy theory.

"What about Ichabod Crane?"

The other people turn to her.

"Can he--Where has he been lately?"

"Oh, my god, Irving, we haven't even checked--" Jenny starts.

"What are we saying here, are we saying the professor magicked her out of there or something?"

Luke's interruption has the effect of shocking the room into silence.

Reyes' silence is colored with concern.

Jenny's and Irving's with dismay and realization.

Jenny meets Irving's eyes.

"He's gonna bring her back."

 

* * *

 

 

Bits and pieces come back to Abbie as Crane tells her what's happened since the convenience store. She remembers the gunshot, and the hot pain washing over her. She remembers how cold she got. She remembers that it wasn't as cold as she would get. 

When Crane tells her about Orion and Sheol, she remembers  _that place_. Remembers the running. Remembers the sharp things.

"How long?" she asks quietly.

Crane has moved to sit next to her as he recounts the story. One of her hands remains in his. She still needs contact. He squeezes it now.

"Barely above a day, I believe. Or--forgive me, it has been almost two now."

Abbie makes a strangled sound.

"That's not--It can't be."

Crane shifts in order to look more directly at her.

"Lieutenant?"

"It hasn't been two days, Crane. That place--it was longer.  _Much_ longer."

A chill runs through Crane.

"How long?"

She squeezes her eyes shut and seems to fold in on herself.

"Just... longer."

Neither of them hear or notice the sound of a car pulling up outside, nor the running footsteps crossing the porch until the door slams open.

"Crane, what the  _fuck_?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long time between updates. Next one should be a little bit faster, hopefully.


	6. Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane has some explaining to do, and Abbie's state of mind causes worry.

Abbie's ears are buzzing. She shakes her head slightly, but makes no move to stand from her place on the couch as Jenny and Crane shout at each other.

"What the  _ fuck  _ were you thinking, Crane? How the hell are we ever gonna--"

Crane's voice is cold.

"I was  _ thinking _ , Miss Jenny, that I--that  _ we  _ needed her back. Or are you going to deny--"

"Don't you fucking dare, Crane, I swear to--"

Irving's voice is conciliatory.

"People, please, we need to--"

Abbie sits through it all, not quite registering them, but knowing she's at the crux of their conversation. She makes the connection that maybe what Crane told her he did wasn't okay somehow, but it makes no impact in her. Instead, there is a stillness inside her that would scare her were she the Other Abbie, the Abbie that hadn't been in  _ that place _ . She looks at her hands and flexes them, wonderingly.

_ Is this place better?  _ she asks herself.  _ Am I real here? _

Suddenly, she wants to touch Crane--touch  _ anyone _ , really--again. To anchor herself. To  _ be here. _

She doesn't realize she's spoken aloud until everyone turns to her and Jenny rushes to kneel at her side.

"Abs? Are you okay?"

Abbie reaches out and touches Jenny's cheek. Jenny closes her eyes and holds Abbie's hand there.

"Jenny," Abbie whispers, and Jenny suppresses a sob.

The others--Crane and Irving, as Luke and Reyes had stayed behind at the station after being promised updates--also move toward Abbie, Crane sitting in his former spot and Irving kneeling next to Jenny.

"My sister," Abbie says, as if confirming something to herself.

Jenny's eyes open and look at Abbie, then move to Crane.

"She doesn't remember?"

Crane clears his throat quietly.

"She remembers some things. I've told her what's happened."

Abbie ignores them speaking about her as if she's not there, focusing instead on Irving and furrowing her brow.

_ Frank Irving,  _ her brain supplies.

He nods at her as if to confirm her thoughts.

"God, Crane, is she okay? How did you even--"

Jenny's voice is agitated now.

"The Angel Orion retrieved her. She was not in--She was not suffering damnation, he told me."

"But how--"

"Jenny."

Abbie's voice is still quiet, but with a little bit of steel underlying.

She realizes she is still stroking her sister's cheek, and she reluctantly makes herself stop and gathers her hands to herself.

"I'm fine. Really," she adds when she sees Jenny's skeptical look.

Irving clears his throat nervously.

"Nice to have you back, Mills," he says gruffly.

Abbie offers a small smile that feels strange to her.

"The things I have to do to get a day off."

No one laughs, and Irving's smile is more of a wince.

Abbie sighs.

"I'm  _ fine. _ I just--I want to sleep? Huh. Imagine that, I wake from the dead and want to go straight to sleep."

Everyone relaxes after tensing briefly at the D-word.

Jenny and Irving get up.

"We could go back to the house," Jenny offers with a smile and a hand to help Abbie up. "Tea and bed readily available."

"Actually," Abbie looks at Crane, "could I... stay here? Tonight?"

"Of course, Lieutenant," a startled Crane replies.

"You don't want to come home?"

The dismay in Jenny's voice is hard for her to hide.

"It's not that, it's just--here feels..." Abbie sighs in frustration.

Crane lays a hand on her arm.

"You are welcome to stay," he says softly, and Abbie gives him what looks like a relieved smile.

"If you're sure," Jenny is uncertain, but Abbie nods decisively and Jenny sighs. “I guess I’ll figure something to tell Luke and Reyes. And… see you tomorrow?”

The hopeful note at the end of the sentence sends a pang of guilt through Abbie and she holds onto the feeling wonderingly, as if it were a new find. She nods again at Jenny, hoping that her smile is reassuring.

Jenny turns to Crane.

“Take care of her.”

His brow furrows, annoyed that she would assume any different.

“Of course,” he answers curtly.

Irving lays a comforting hand on Abbie’s shoulder after rising from the floor, and she leans into it briefly.

“Glad to have you back, Mills. Couldn’t do this thing without you,” he says softly.

She offers him a small close-lipped smile and he turns and leaves, waiting for Jenny outside.

Jenny stops at the threshold on her way to join him, facing Crane again.

“We’re talking about this again,” she warns before turning and leaving.

Crane closes the door behind her. Abbie watches silently as he leans slightly against the door and sighs. The cabin feels bigger now and she tries not to fidget because she wants to touch someone again, but she fails because it catches Crane’s attention and he turns back to her expectantly.

“What now?” she asks him.

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


_ Yes, what now?  _ Crane asks himself later as he watches Abbie deliberately get ready for bed. She moves slowly and methodically--here, sitting on the bed as if testing its support; there, taking off her boots...then her socks...then her trousers.

He turns when she does, but not before noting her delicate painted toes--a bright azure blue that seems too cheerful for the situation. If he didn’t know any better, he could pretend everything is as it was, that the nightmarish hours before she appeared on his doorstep never happened, and that she was merely spending the night as she’d done countless times before when their demonslaying had run too late.

But when she’s finished and settled under the sheet and he tucks the covers around her before turning to leave, she stops him.

“No.”

Her voice is soft but in the preceding silence of the room it sounds as if it were a call to arms.

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

She seems as if she can’t find the words and he gives her the time to get her thoughts in order.

“Stay. Here, with me.”

He hesitates. He is keenly aware that despite her seeming uninjured there may yet be some unseen damage--the most delicate kind, of the mind. He would be loath to hurt her again. He prepares to tell her gently that he will be but a short distance away on the sofa should she need him, but she reaches for him and the words die on his tongue.

“Please.”

How could he deny her this?

“If--” He clears his throat, tries again. “If you are certain.”

She nods almost shyly then shifts to make room for him on the bed.

He sits in the space she left him, bending down to remove his boots, heart pounding wildly because even if this is wrong, if it is…  _ inconvenient _ , God help him, he wants it so badly. He wants it so that his muscles ache as he strains against his own body and mentally admonishes it to move slowly and carefully, that his Abbie needs comfort, not lechery.

He begins to settle into the covers, drawing them over his fully-clothed body when she stops him again.

“Could you--” She drops her eyes to her hand on his arm, biting her lip. “I know I’m asking a lot.”

Roughly he shakes his head. Does she not know? She could ask for the world.

“What do you need, Abbie?”

Her hand squeezes his arm slightly. It tenses under her touch, then relaxes when she absently strokes it.

Her answer is simple when it comes.

“Skin.”

He meets her eyes and he’s sure his are frightened, or at the very least startled.

_ God, what does this mean? _

_ God, why _ now _? _

“It, um… It feels better when I can touch you,” she clarifies.

“I see,” he says carefully.

“If you can’t, that’s okay. I know this isn’t exactly… proper?”

He takes a deep breath. She is right that his first instinct is to refuse, but she looks so uncertain, so tentative, that instead he moves away to remove his shirt before once again getting into bed and drawing the covers over both of them. He is tense again but he forces himself to relax when Abbie cuddles into him, closing her eyes and stroking his side as one would a cat.

“Thank you, Crane,” she whispers softly, then drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck was he thinking?” Jenny rages, thumping the dashboard in irritation. “So much shit could’ve gone wrong! She could’ve--”

“Jenny.” Irving’s voice is steady, and it pisses Jenny off. How is he so damn calm?

“Frank, come on. I know you haven’t been around this supernatural crap long but even you have to admit this could’ve gone horribly wrong.”

Irving sighs.

“Yeah, it could’ve gone wrong. But you saw her yourself, she’s...whole.” He catches her glare out of the corner of his eye. “You know what I mean,” he says gently.

After glaring at him a little longer, she finally turns to look out of her window, sighing.

“He should’ve at least told me,” she says sullenly.

“Ah, see, on  _ that _ , we agree. But…”

She looks at him again, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“But?”

“ _ But. _ Knowing Crane, knowing about their whole… bond thing--And I’m not talking just the Apocalypse/God’s Witnesses stuff… He was there, Jenny.”

Jenny lowers her head to study her restless hands.

“We didn’t even--We don’t know what he went through, how he was coping.”

Jenny scoffs. “Not coping at all, apparently.”

He risks glancing at her.

“Can you blame him?”

She gives a slight shake of the head.

“I guess not.”

“Bottom line,” Irving continues, “I’m not trying to feel bad for having her back, no matter how that came to be.”

Jenny’s smile is a small, quick thing. Yeah, it was good to have Abbie back, period. Except…

“Frank?”

“Hm?”

“Did she seem--is she okay?” She tries to keep the tremble from her voice, but judging by how Irving takes one hand off the steering wheel to hold one of hers, she figures she failed.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. A squeeze. “But she will be.”

They ride back to Abbie’s house in silence, Irving’s hand holding hers for the rest of the way.

 

 


End file.
